


Ex Post Facto

by this_is_not_nothing



Series: Post hoc ergo propter hoc [5]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, M/M, a fight that isn't a fight, mostly about communication and being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing
Summary: Well, that went even worse than David had been expecting, and he had been prepared for Raf Simons at Calvin Klein levels of bad.ORThree years intoSwat117'spolitical AU
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Post hoc ergo propter hoc [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087199
Comments: 63
Kudos: 181





	Ex Post Facto

**Author's Note:**

> In theory, this could be read alone, but the entire series is exceptional and I would definitely read them all.

David’s screen lights up with the name he’s been expecting for the last five minutes.

_Patrick._

He grabs his phone and squares off his shoulders. 

“Hi.” 

“Really?”

David makes an effort to keep his voice even. “Well, it needed to be said.” 

“Did it though?” Patrick’s voice is clipped.

“Opening the door, Patrick! The President needs you in his office.” Ray sounds close—bright even, in his ear—a sharp contrast to the distance in Patrick’s tone.

“I have to go, your father wants me.” Patrick hangs up.

Well, that went even worse than David had been expecting, and he had been prepared for Raf Simons at Calvin Klein levels of bad. David sets his phone down on his desk, a picture of cherry blossoms silently mocking him. That had been a good day. Ray cleared a whole afternoon of Patrick’s time, and him and David walked down to the Tidal Basin. David has a lot of photos of that day, including a favorite that he searches out now—Patrick smiling at him, soft pink petals in the background. He’d laughed at David and pulled him in for a kiss, and David can’t look at the image without feeling the press of Patrick’s lips.

Three very unhelpful texts from Stevie, one emoji string from Alexis, and half of a tepid macchiato later, Patrick calls back.

“So you just thought, wow—I haven’t seen my boyfriend in three weeks, let me ensure he has to work all weekend?” 

David isn’t even going to respond to that. He presses his lips together to keep from saying something they’ll both regret. Years of being hurt by people he thought he could trust has left David with a finely honed skill for cutting remarks. He thinks he can still trust Patrick, even now, even when he’s angry. 

“I don’t have time for this, I have a meeting,” David says. This time he hangs up.

David does in fact have a meeting, and not one he can be late for because his boyfriend is having a tantrum.

When David calls back two hours later, Patrick answers on the first ring. 

“This administration has—” Patrick starts, this time using his work voice.

David cuts him off, he knows what the administration—his father—has managed to achieve since taking office three years ago, and it’s not much. “Federal guidelines aren’t actual protections. Four times more likely to feel unsafe going to school, _five_ times more likely to have been threatened or injured with a weapon at school in the last twelve months. With a _weapon_ , Patrick.”

“I know that—who do you think wrote the President’s speech today?” Patrick bites back, his frustration clear. David can picture the way he’s probably running his hand across the back of his neck. “We’re working on legislation but we’re up against a Republican Senate and—” 

“This _administration_ campaigned on equality and _love is love_ and instead what we’re getting amounts to a Post-it that says _Be Nice_. In thirty states, conversion therapy is still legal, so best hope you’re born in Nevada not Nebraska. Casinos or cattle, rights or no rights. That shouldn't be decided by geography.”

“It should count for something that there is an openly queer member of the first family, _two_ gay cabinent members—a White House Senior Staffer dating a—”

David snaps. “Our relationship is not a professional achievement.” 

There’s a sharp exhale and then silence. David opens his mouth to apologize, and then closes it. He’s not actually sorry.

The silence goes on so long David begins to wonder if they got cut off, then Patrick finally says, “There’s no way I’m making that train tonight.” 

“I know,” David whispers. 

They hang up at the same time.

David replays his options, their conversation, Patrick’s terse tone about a thousand times. Eventually, he gives up on getting anymore work done. He said what needed to be said, he was right, and the reward is forty eight hours of no plans, no Patrick. He logs off, grabs his bag, and heads for the door. Maybe he’ll order Indian from the place Patrick hates. Conciliatory curry. And samosas.

David leaves his office with every intention of doing that, going home, but instead finds himself under the big board at Penn Station, buying a ticket on his phone for the Northeast Regional, departing at 7:40. David watches as people follow invisible trajectories to their tracks and, for once, the low level of despair this building inspires matches his mood. He’s grateful his detail is plainclothes, it gives David the ability to be alone in a crowd. David buys himself two Krispy Kremes, another two for Ivan as a peace offering for the sudden change of plans and what is sure to be a terrible coffee. He hopes he can at least find a seat in the quiet car. 

He tries to use the time productively, but gives up by Newark, staring past his reflection into the dark. He spends most of Delaware panicking this was the wrong move, and wonders if he should head straight to the residence instead. David lets himself into Patrick’s apartment a little before midnight. 

A small part of him hoped Patrick would be here, but even on a good night Patrick is still in his office at this hour—and it wasn't a good night. David doesn’t bother to look in the fridge for a snack. Patrick only gets groceries delivered when David is going to be here. He thinks about texting Patrick, but Ivan’s presence out front will be enough to let him know he’s here.

He finds the pajamas he keeps here (alongside Patrick's in the second drawer down) and changes. He gets into bed and it’s unsettling, being here without Patrick next to him, or in the shower, or down the hall typing too loudly on his laptop. Patrick types decisively, hitting each key a little too hard. David thinks that might be the secret to the conviction laced through all his father’s speeches—he certainly sounded less certain before Patrick joined. 

David remembers the exact day he met Patrick. David joined them in Nashua, and his father was supposed to order a slice of pie at the local diner. Half his staff was fighting over what kind of fruit was the most presidential. David watched them, shaking his head. His father was going to order cherry, optics be damned. It was his favorite, even David knew that. Patrick, the new guy—the guy who’s not new to David at all now, instead all familiar edges, down to his jersey sheets—was the only one to actually ask Johnny what _he_ wanted. David walked over and introduced himself once all the cameras were aimed at his father and his pie. Maybe David misses those early days, sneaking glances across the room, watching Patrick. Watching him pace waiting for polling numbers, scribbling edits into the margins of remarks, patiently explaining to his mother the importance of her cooperation.

David rolls over onto Patrick’s side of the bed. Maybe he just misses Patrick.

He’s not sure when he fell asleep, but eventually Patrick is there, pressing a kiss to his forehead. David moves over, letting Patrick into his normal spot, watches Patrick change and appear with a toothbrush, give his head a tiny shake of disbelief. 

Patrick gets into bed, facing David. “You’re here.”

“Well, I had a free weekend unexpectedly.” 

“I wouldn’t have worked so late if I knew you were coming.”

David laughs, because they both know Patrick would have. He would have sent David a bunch of apologetic texts, but he would have stayed just as late.

“You’re really very good. It was—it got everyone’s attention.” 

“I’m more than a pretty face.”

“No, I just. Didn’t realize how good you are.”

“Well, I am.”

“I know that now.” Patrick pulls him close, and kisses him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Rubi came back today. They were in really bad shape, Patrick.” David knows he’s not supposed to play favorites, but here he is. “We need more than sandwiches and beds and guidelines.”

“How bad?”

“Kids aren’t just slipping through cracks, they’re falling off cliffs.”

“I don’t want people falling over the edge either.”

“Right over your federally mandated handrails.”

“Well, we’ll have to build better handrails. Let’s build them together.”

“Are we—” David whispers into the dark, into the space between them that measures both five states and five inches, “together?”

“Is that why you—? David. I rebooked the train for this morning. The 7:55 a.m.”

“I’m not used to this part. The part where people stay.”

“I wasn’t mad at you.” Patrick’s eyes go wide, fond and full of affection, willing David to believe him. David does. “I was mad that you were right. On the best days we’re still failing. It’s bad enough disappointing you, but they’re just kids.”

“That train is in five hours.”

“I don’t sleep so great on my own anymore,” Patrick says softly.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> ex post facto/ from a thing done afterwards
> 
> Biggest thanks to [Swat117's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swat117/pseuds/swat117) for tricking me into writing in this world, generously beta-ing to make it feel more in line with series, enduring very dramatic whining and for allowing David's POV.


End file.
